Safely You Will Fall
by nothingSpectacular
Summary: Ruby wasn't as careful as she thought and Sam, despite his struggles, can still exercise basic logic. He knew, knew what Lilith was and what her death meant. So he does what he has to, willing to do anything to save the world and his brother.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a week, one whole week since Sam had escaped the panic room. Castiel had transported Dean out of where the angels were holding him prisoner but when he had reached the convent the only thing he had found was the cold corpse of Ruby's vessel, no wounds anywhere on the small form just the stench of sulfur lingering around her body.

After Castiel's explanation Dean had anticipated some kind of catastrophic event, Lucifer ravaging the world. At least some kind of evidence that something had happened. The angels hadn't shown their faces and when Dean had returned to the convent with Bobby later they had combed the place, the only change was that the putrid scent of Ruby's decomposing body filled the air; and upon a wider search around the convent they had found the body of a young woman in the back of an abandoned car, exsanguinated. Sam was gone, all his phones disconnected and no trace of a body.

Dean wasn't sure how to feel about it all. Sam was possibly dead, and as Castiel had said, most definitely not human.

"You gonna drink that?"

Dean blinked, looking up at Bobby. He looked down at the coffee cup in his hand. He hadn't drunk any and it had become cold. Dean shrugged and stared back at the piece of wall he'd been concentrating on for the last hour.

"We're gonna find him."

The platitude seemed dull and pointless to Dean, unwarranted too because now Dean was less worried about saving Sam than making sure that he was put to rest, whether in reality or in his heart, Dean wasn't sure. All he knew was that he was terrifyingly tired and empty.

There was a loud curse and Dean looked up to see Bobby muttering under his breath and glaring at Castiel. The angel wore his usual blank expression and was peering at Dean.

"Cas," Dean said, voice disinterested and gaze already flicking back to the wall.

He didn't have the energy to care about the angel's presence.

"Where is your brother?"

Dean's brows raised at the angel's stressed tone and he looked sharply at the angel. Now that he was paying attention he realized that Castiel looked different, haggard and beaten down.

"I should be asking you that."

The angel's face scrunched up and frustration broke the calm on his face.

"You do not know where your brother is?" The angel asked, tired disbelief lacing his tone.

"Not since he left. Why are you here?"

Castiel looked in consternation at Dean, seemingly debating silently with himself.

"I was untrue. Killing Lilith is the only way to stop the apocalypse. We must find your brother to ensure that he cannot prevent this by joining Lilith's ranks."

Dean's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You told me the apocalypse was the angels' end game."

Castiel shrugged. "I lied, I had hoped another way could be found which would preserve your brother's humanity. I was wrong, my brethren have helped me see the error of my ways," Castiel was staring at the ground.

Dean's brows raised even higher at the phrase 'error of my ways'. Castiel looked wrong, sounded wrong. Even more so, Dean's gut was telling him that something was wrong.

Castiel held his gaze, eyes dead.

"Lilith must die to avert the destruction of your world."

There it was, Dean had always been good at pegging a lie, especially one as blatant as that. He eyed Castiel cooly, still exceedingly indifferent.

"Like I said, I don't know where Sam is," he repeated nonchalantly, going so far as to take a sip of his cold coffee.

Dean watched Castiel sag into himself, blank stare becoming distant and full of despair.

"I see," there was a pause of silence.

"I will take my leave then. If one should wish to implore to me, any place of God would be suitable, merely invoke my name and I will listen."

Dean frowned, Castiel gave him a knowing look and vanished. There was a moment of silence after the angel's departure.

"What the hell was that?" Bobby asked over his coffee mug.

Dean shook his head, something stirring in him. Something was wrong, very, very wrong.

* * *

Sam lay on the floor, panting. His body felt like it had been liquefied and then boiled. Shit, he felt like shit. Two fucking days of this, he didn't have time to be an invalid. With a shaky hand he reached out for the cellphone he had purchased after the convent.

It was 3:39am. Blood, oh how he wanted blood, the desire was overwhelming, making his body convulse in it's despairing need. But fuck if he was going to make things go to shit again. Sam laughed; he'd known, he'd known. Sam was smart, he had waited and listened and watched; even as blood had been stuffed into him and lies cooed in his ear. Even as angels had screamed in his face of being an abomination. Sam had listened. He let out a loud bark of laughter that turned into a strangled scream cut short by his throat tightening.

He was in so much pain.

Stupid, stupid, stupid angels, they had underestimated him and been so arrogant. Sam had listened and waited, researched. Lilith was gone, not dead though, because Sam had waited and listened and planned. All his hard work had paid off, plans working perfectly. Another stab of pain lanced it's way through his body. Except Dean, the fight in the motel wasn't supposed to have happened. It had made it easier though, being able to give it all up because Dean had showed him there was nothing left to go back to.

Tears pricked his eyes, he'd wrapped his hands around his brother's throat and squeezed. Dean had called him a monster, a vampire. Dean had promised to kill him yet Sam was the only one who had almost gone through with fratricide.

Sam dropped the phone next to him, curling into a ball as another tremor ripped it's way through him. He hoped to God or any higher power that no one came in because he wanted blood and his mind was too muddled to know the difference between human and demon.

He hoped Dean could forgive him, wanted more than anything for his big brother to know that he had stopped the apocalypse from happening. That a monster had done that, that Sam had done something good.

* * *

"He doesn't know?!"

Castiel felt the abnormal but recently increasing feeling of insubordination wash through him at his superior's tone.

Zachariah stalked forward, he pushed at Castiel and Castiel had to withhold himself from responding violently.

"You useless soldier! First you botch our release of Lucifer and now you can't even fix your mistakes!"

"I will keep looking," Castiel said quietly.

Zachariah narrowed his gaze.

"You better do that, Castiel, because you're one mistake away from seeing the same fate as Gadreel did. If I have my way, you'll see worse than he did."

Castiel ground his teeth together. He was confused, every instinct telling him to be true to heaven and a deeper feeling of a need to protect his father's most precious creation of humans at war within him. He was sure the apocalypse needed to happen just as he was sure that it couldn't because it would annihilate all of humanity.

Zachariah slapped him on the shoulder, more belittling words spewing from his mouth. Castiel clenched his fist, barely restraining the urge to take out his blade. With everything so confusing the only thing he was certain of was how much he wanted to sink a blade into Zachariah.

It was funny that the tumbling in his gut and an innate sense that something was wrong was what had Dean pulling from his slump. Angels were looking for Sam, obviously for a purpose which involved bringing an end to the world. Dean may have been empty and hopeless but as a hunter he wasn't going to sit by and let the shit world he lived in end.

* * *

Bobby had been heckling him to find Sam, worry making him push Dean, worry for Sam but most of all worry over what Dean was becoming.

"Found a lead. A death just a few towns away from the convent. The post mortem wounds and time of death have the police baffled, stuff like the fact the body's been dead for over a year but there isn't any decomposition of the flesh. Sounds like a demon and something worth checking out."

Dean nodded, soundlessly standing up.

"We should head that way then."

Dean began pulling his jacket on but stopped when he noticed the probing look Bobby had fixed on him.

"Something else you want to say, Bobby?"

Bobby's gaze narrowed at the slight edge in Dean's voice.

"Yeah," he said nodding his head, "there is."

Bobby stalked forward, "You don't even seem to care about Sam, you were raring to fix and save him. Ever since you came back from the convent you don't seem to give a dick's bit about him."

Dean stiffened.

"That's not-" Dean broke off. He brought a hand up to roughly run through his hair.

"I care Bobby, but, you saw that girl's body, drained of blood. Castiel said Sam wouldn't be human if he did that, and Sam did. We find him, he probably won't even be Sam and I'm gonna have to-"

His jaw trembled and he finished pulling his coat on.

"Well, you know as well as I we won't be able to just let him walk around, not when we know what he's capable of, what he'll do to others."

Bobby seemed to deflate at Dean's words, "You don't know that."

It was a half hearted attempt to instill hope in a place they both knew as hopeless.

"Bobby, we've already lost him."

Bobby nodded, he knew that. Finding Sam was now a matter of keeping at bay an apocalypse and to finally put to rest someone who should've been buried back when a knife had been planted in his back.

When they arrived at the crime scene, no one was there and yellow police tape was placed over the motel door. Apparently the body had been found here. Bobby had only read the written report, the pictures not yet included. Stepping into the room Bobby nearly flinched back at the gruesomeness of it.

Strange and unfamiliar sigils were painted in blood on every available surface. The body had been removed, the outline on the floor indicating where it had been found. The bed sheets were rumpled and had spots of blood on them. Dean stepped in after him and went pale as he took the scene in.

They silently began looking around, trying to find evidence of something. There was sulfur, so definitely a demon had been here. The more important question was if Sam had been there.

Dean froze as he spotted a familiar duffle bag, clothes that he knew were pooling from it, one of Sam's ever present paper backs bent out of shape in the bag.

"Bobby," Dean called out.

Bobby came over and let out a quiet curse word.

"Let's make sure this is what it looks like first, no reason to jump to conclusions."

Dean didn't respond at first, turning away from the incriminating evidence.

"How much you wanna bet the body is drained?" He asked with a humorless chuckle.

Bobby didn't laugh, he didn't say anything else either.

* * *

Several hours earlier...

The shakes and pain had died some, enough for Sam to pull himself off the floor and into the bathroom to clean up. He smelled worse than he felt, long thick lacerations extending along his arms and chest where he had cut to make the angel repelling sigils. When he stood he saw his reflection and flinched back as black, empty eyes met his in the mirror. He spent a good half hour on the floor of the bathroom shaking from something other than withdrawal. Eventually he had gotten into the shower, scrubbing himself till his skin was pink and raw. When he got out the black eyes were still there.

He couldn't go out like this. It took a conscious effort to change them back to his normal hazel and it immediately began a low pressure headache which became worse the longer he kept his eyes normal.

Then it hit him, a nauseatingly delicious smell, one of sulfur and a deep soft thrum indicating blood. His hands began shaking all over again. Pushing the door open he saw a man standing in the middle of the room, some scrawny college student most likely, but he could see the curling diseased soul of a demon laying like a mask over him. How he wanted to pin the demon to the ground and then tear into its femoral artery, sucking as every heartbeat pushed that sweet viscous substance into his mouth. Sam didn't realize his mouth was watering until a little bit of drool dripped down the side of his lips.

The want was quickly replaced by disgust and an intense feeling of sickness. He stepped out of the bathroom and raised a hand. The demon crumpled to the floor, the exorcism happening in instants and killing the demon. The attraction of the blood disappeared but his deep seated want didn't. Sam left the room, not looking back and leaving everything behind. He jacked a car and was headed down the road just ten minutes later.

* * *

The coroner report was confusing. Nothing about exsanguination, in fact the body hadn't bled at all. Neck snapped supposedly a time long before the body had been left in the motel room. Sam hadn't drank any blood. It was a ray of light, until Dean's mind darkened with the thought that maybe Sam hadn't drunk any blood because he didn't need to anymore.

"I was checking other crimes, small town like this, only one car theft. Same day the body was found. It's probably Sam."

Dean nodded, "Okay."

"'89 plymouth reliant. They're already tracking it, some traffic cams place it 'bout 90 miles south of here. If we wanna catch up with your brother we'll need to head out now."

Dean just nodded again. If the demon hadn't bled, then whose blood was on the walls?

The frightening thought occurred to him that it was Sam's blood adorning the walls in strange symbols. They were something else Bobby was trying to research, not with much success though. He attributed it to the fact that they were on the road and not at his house where more time and resources could be used.

Then again, Bobby didn't recognize the symbols. Obviously they were old, pictographs being the first form of writing, however they couldn't be identified with any of the archaic languages. Hopefully they would be able to figure it out. Castiel's last cryptic message also rang in Dean's head.

Something was going on with Castiel that the angel wasn't telling him. It left a nasty pit in his stomach, so far none of the angels like that dickwad Zachariah had come for him, forcing him into being Michael's vessel. It was actually disturbingly quiet considering the situation.

Dean had a feeling that this was the quiet before the storm.

* * *

Tracking Sam Winchester wasn't possible. Zachariah let out a strangled scream of fury and swept his arm across the table, causing all of the work on it to plunge violently to the ground. A few angels flinched, most stayed still, eyes calmly surveying their commander.

"How did he learn about these?"

Zachariah wrenched an incomplete photo of enochian warfare symbols from the table and waved it in the faces of his underlings. They were all used to repel an angel's presence or hide a person from an angel's sight. Too many long years without bodies and nearly all angels were dependent on their powers. A human way of finding Sam Winchester would be impossible for any of them to discover let alone implement.

Arrogance was a good way of describing the main trait of the angels, it could easily be followed by ignorance.

* * *

He was shaking so bad he couldn't guide the car right. Sam's vision was blurring and finally he had to acquiesce and pull to the side of the road. He hadn't eaten and his stomach was rebelling. It was hard though, the need for blood mixing with basic human necessities. He wasn't human anymore but he also wasn't all demon. Sam's body revolted against the change, pain becoming ever present.

Now that he wasn't in motion, Sam drew Ruby's knife out, lifted his t-shirt and made another cut on his chest. Using the blood he coated the car in symbols, half lucid mind not registering the pain as blood oozed down his chest, saturating his shirt. It would dry at some point, making his shirt stiff.

Once symbols had been spread across the car's interior in abundance, Sam collapsed against the seat, exhaustion pulling him into a fitful rest.


	2. Chapter 2

They followed the trail of the Plymouth, driving southward out of Maine. Bobby had opted to ride along with Dean in the Impala, leaving his truck back at the Singer Salvage, over five states away and over a thousand miles.

Dean was regretting it now, with the long hard silence between the two. They were close to Sam, so close and it was weighing down on them both. So it was with a blink of surprise that Dean pulled the Impala to a stop and stared in the rear view mirror with disbelief.

"What is it?" Bobby asked gruffly, he'd been looking through a book propped on his lap.

Dean gave a little nod of his head, eyes still glued to the rear view mirror. Bobby looked and his brows raised.

"Ya think?" He asked in slight disbelief.

It was an '89 Plymouth Reliant, just parked on the shoulder of the one lane highway. Midday, in plain sight.

"I don't know."

There was a moment of inertia, and then Dean cranked the wheel around and did a U-turn. They parked on the shoulder across from the white Plymouth. They could see the form of a man in the car, one similar to Sam, reclined partially and looking as if they were asleep. The two exchanged glances and began across the road, both with guns in hand.

The man was indeed Sam, Dean realized as they came close to the car. His eyes were closed, his face pale with blood smeared on it. He looked like he was dead. Despite Dean's earlier apathy he felt his heart clench at the sight, chest tightening with emotion.

Bobby was near the front of the car, Dean looked over at him and Bobby gave a small nod. Dean opened the door.

It creaked open with a disappointing lack of response. Sam hadn't stirred. Dean waited a moment, peering into the car.

His nose scrunched up at the smell of vomit and blood. Sam's pants were crusted in now dry blood, and his shirt was stiffened in various places with decent amounts of the viscous material. There wasn't, however, an obvious cause of death.

Dean leaned down, tucking his gun in his pants, and reaching out to feel Sam's pulse point on his neck.

Sam jerked back, alive when Dean had assumed he was dead. Dean toppled back, landing on his ass. He caught a glimpse of black eyes and began scrambling away from the car, yelling out 'demon' to Bobby. The demon meanwhile was trying to scramble out the other door. Bobby responded to Dean's cry and fired just as the demon began getting out, causing the body to fall to the rough gravel below.

It was strangely quiet as it didn't move. Bobby frowned, eyeing Dean and the demon as he waited for Dean to get up and come around the other side. They then both approached the body together. It wasn't dead, back lifting and falling in heavy breaths from where it had crumpled to the ground.

Bobby nudged the body with his foot, so it rolled to its back. The eyes were clenched shut and blood was coming from its leg where Bobby had just shot it. So far the demon hadn't tried hurting either of them, or using its powers. It had also gone down like a sack of bricks, usually a gunshot wound barely affected a demon.

"You think-" Dean started, mouth dry and all of the stoic bravado gone in the face of his brother.

Bobby shook his head. The demon sure wasn't acting like one. Then it blinked its eyes open, they were black. It didn't make any move to attack though, just stayed panting on the ground, sprawled ignominiously. Its eyes flicked between Dean and Bobby, wide with fear, before they settled to the side. Fear, that wasn't a common emotion on a demon, at least not when they'd been made.

The mood was stiff, an unyielding freeze. Bobby shifted the gun in his hand and the demon flinched. Dean felt unwanted worry and concern raise in him, he was immediately angry.

"You can stop pretending you bastard, we know what you are," Dean ground out.

Whatever it was it wasn't going to get any leniency just because it looked like Sam. And if it was Sam, that meant the brother he had known was gone.

"How you wanna do this Bobby?" Dean asked, gun still leveled at the demon.

They hadn't really discussed what they were going to do, a makeshift devil's trap scrawled in the trunk with the idea that they would throw whatever Sam was in there. They would have talked more about it but everytime they did it had devolved into angry snapping.

"Trunk," Bobby responded.

Dean gave a nod. Bobby slowly backed away, moving toward the Impala to get the trunk open. Dean meanwhile was left with the task of getting the demon to the trunk without dying.

"Get up," Dean demanded.

The demon blinked slowly, jaw trembling and shaky hands still wrapped around its leg. It let go of the wound and with badly shaking limbs pushed itself to its feet. Black eyes tracked Dean and a cold shiver ran down his spine.

"Towards the car, nice and easy," Bobby ordered.

Dean went ahead, eyes between the demon and his car. The demon stumbled and nearly fell, but it made its way over. Dean opened the trunk and Bobby roughly shoved the muzzle of the gun into the demon's back. It climbed in and Dean slammed the trunk lid shut.

* * *

Sam's nightmares were reality. Bobby and Dean staring at him like he was a monster, shooting him, shoving him into the trunk no doubt with an interrogation in mind. It didn't matter, it didn't matter, he repeated the mantra in his head, because he'd kept the world safe. Sam curled up as pain wracked through him. He needed to stop the bleeding in his leg, maybe, he wasn't sure it mattered. Sam fell asleep.

* * *

Sam woke to a position he was all too familiar with, tied to a chair. This time it was in Bobby's front room, everything pushed to the side and a complex devil's trap under him. Water was dumped on him, water that burned like acid. He let out a cry of pain, blinking rapidly in hopes that the water that had gotten in his eyes would leave. He'd never sympathized with a demon when it came to holy water. It seemed that had all changed though.

He finally managed to open his eyes and it was to his brother's venomous glare. Sam flinched away.

"Nice to see you've joined us," Dean quipped, another bottle of holy water already in hand.

Bobby was standing at the side of the room, face set so much like it had been that time Meg had possessed Sam. Sam was nothing now. The monster was him, not something possessing him. Maybe, maybe he could make them think that, make them think that the Sam they used to love was smushed deep down and it was a monster in place. If it would spare them pain.

"We have a few questions for you, you're going to answer them," Dean said.

Sam didn't answer, staring down at his lap. More holy water was splashed on him. Sam jerked back, the water burning worse than anything he'd ever experienced. He screamed, shaking and quivering as he tried to get away from it.

"Where is Lilith?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, barely hearing the question and not processing it. More water was thrown and Sam screamed again, his skin searing.

"Where is Lilith!?" Dean yelled, more water raining down.

Sam's screams pitched higher and it took minutes for the water to evaporate away. He felt exhausted, head lolling back as he tried to breathe.

"Y-you're brother's gone," Sam spit out, hoping that if he enraged them they would put him out of his misery.

Dean punched him and he felt his nose give, breaking.

"Answer me! Where is Lilith?!"

Sam shook his head, looking up at his furious brother with black eyes. Tears were in Dean's eyes and he punched again, and again. Sam's head snapped back under the first few blows when finally one caused his consciousness to collapse.

Dean didn't stop until he felt a hand on his arm.

"Dean."

It was Bobby. Dean paused. He looked down at Sam's face, it was a mess. He stumbled back, noticing the tears on his own face. Bobby looked sad.

"Dean," Bobby started, a gentle hand coming to rest on Dean's shoulder.

Dean jerked away, eyes stuck fast to the monster that looked like his brother. Bobby dropped his arm and stared forlornly at the eldest Winchester brother. It was quiet. Then, like the flick of a switch, Dean left, rushing away. Bobby watched him go before following him out.

Dean was in the kitchen, seated in a chair, hunched over with his head in his hands. He looked defeated.

"You wanna talk about this?" Bobby asked, extending a figurative hand knowing it would be refused.

Dean didn't answer, only lifting his head to wipe at his face. Bobby let out a sigh and went to the fridge. He pulled out two beers and opened them. He set one next to Dean and then sunk into a kitchen seat, sipping his own. They said nothing.

* * *

Sam woke to a dark and empty room. One of his eyes were swollen shut, the other to a slit. Everything hurt and his stomach felt like it was being turned inside out. He felt feverish, the bullet wound untended. His brother had just tortured him. Sam just wanted to die.

* * *

It wasn't until morning that Dean headed back into the room where the monster was waiting. This whole thing hurt and felt wrong and it twisted his insides. It was slumped over, but as soon as Dean stepped in, its head rose and black eyes glanced at him before being quickly lowered. The posture screamed defeat and shame; pain and exhaustion. There wasn't any rebellion. Something about it all felt off and Dean was trying to think of why.

"I hope you'll answer my questions today," Dean bit out.

The demon didn't respond.

Dean paced the perimeter of the devil's trap, a knife in hand today along with a water bottle filled with freshly blessed water.

"Let's start simple. Where is Lilith?"

The demon shook its head.

"You don't know?" Dean said, an acerbic, mocking question.

He paused in his pacing and flicked water onto it. A scream sounded out that had Dean's heart constricting in pain, pain that was quickly supplanted by anger.

"I guess we'll have to start even simpler."

Dean continued pacing while the demon's head hung to its chest.

"What is the last seal?"

There was silence. Dean's hand moved with practiced aim and Sam screamed again, the liquid burning against his skin.

"Your brother was so pathetically weak," Sam spit out, trying to make his tone as sharp and cruel as he could.

"And you, he regrets not k-killing you, and he would've," Sam stumbled over the one word, feeling nauseous at the implication.

"Shut up!" Dean's voice cracked.

Sam knew it was working.

"You're weak, just like him," Sam said, licking his cracked, dry lips, building momentum.

"I said shut up!" Dean said, a little more enraged.

"Couldn't even take a few years in Hell, you weren't even strong enough to stop your brother," Sam continued.

Dean surged forward, anger eclipsing common sense.

"Shut up!"

"You're pathetic! Weak!" Sam's abused voice grated painfully as it got louder.

He barely felt the blow to his face.

"Shut up!" Dean screamed.

He had a hand fisted in Sam's shirt and the knife in his other. The holy water had been dropped.

Sam knew this was the moment, one more word and he could push his brother over the edge. He looked up and opened his mouth. His words were stolen though as he saw his brother's broken and lost expression. Dean's eyes were wide and they were staring at Sam in a spooked manner.

Dean released his grip on Sam's shirt and took a slow step back. Sam felt his control over the situation slipping and he tried to gain it back.

"Y-you are going to hell again Dean."

The words had no effect. Dean was just staring at him with serious and thoughtful eyes. He was outside the devil's trap.

"You'll be their bitch again," Sam tried to provoke, desperate to end it all now.

Dean looked at Sam and then at the devil's trap. His brow was furrowed. Without another word he turned and left the room.

* * *

"Bobby, I-I think that's Sam."

Bobby looked up from his desk where he was working on a project for another hunter. He frowned. Him and Dean were supposed to head in to interrogate the demon together but Dean had insisted on doing it by himself.

"Dean," Bobby started, heart breaking at the fact that Dean was scrabbling at hope that wasn't there.

"No, hear me out Bobby," Dean said, holding a hand up.

Bobby pursed his lips, but he sat back, willing to listen.

"Two times Bobby," Dean held up two fingers, "two times I stepped in the devil's trap, close enough and long enough for even a small sized demon to do some damage, he didn't."

Bobby's frown deepened.

"Now, I know what you're gonna say, but I don't think this is some plan to get out. Demon's aren't that smart, plus," Dean struggled over the thought of the next thing, "plus I think he's been trying to get us to kill him."

It was silent.

"Dean, I don't think- you're heart is in one place and it's messing with you boy."

Dean shook his head, "No Bobby, this is something else. I was willing to torture and kill the demon, but if that's Sam and he's still in there I'm getting my brother back."

There was a pause and Bobby then gave a nod of his head.

"Alright, son, you convinced me."

* * *

Sam hadn't expected Dean to come back anytime soon, he especially didn't expect Dean to walk into the room with a chair in one hand and a bucket in the other, a med kit and rag tucked under his arm. Sam watched apprehensively from under dirty locks of hair as Dean set the chair down next to him and sat in it. Dean grabbed the rag and dipped it in the bucket, he rang most of the water out before taking it and bringing it up to Sam's face.

Sam flinched away and Dean stilled. Sam dropped his head, eyes staring at his bloodied lap. A warm cloth gently began to brush against his face, damp with water, Sam could feel the crust of blood, grime and sweat begin to come off. Dean was silent but he was being so careful and kind. Sam chanced a glance at his brother. Dean looked sad, super fucking sad, but he also looked determined and in there as well was something Sam didn't think he'd ever see on his brother's face again. Dean was looking at him like he used to, like when Sam said his first word and it was "De'n", like when Sam came home crying over Miranda Taylor in seventh grade and Dean had just held him and told him that he was gonna do so much better than Miranda Taylor. It was with open, honest love.

Sam stared, uncomprehending. Dean continued his ministrations.

When Sam's face was clean, Dean knelt down at the side of the chair and moved on to the bindings, beginning to carefully undo the manacles.

"Don't," Sam croaked out.

He shouldn't be set free, he was dangerous.

"M-monster."

Dean stilled and let his forehead rest against Sam's side from where he was kneeling. There was a long, pained sigh. Then Dean was back at it, carefully unlocking the cuffs. When they fell away, Sam kept his hands there, petrified and unwilling to move.

Fingers ghosted over the weeping lacerations inflicted on Sam's wrists from when Sam had strained against the bonds, he barely recalled them since the holy water which had caused him to thrash around was a lot more painful. Then they were carefully cleaned, like his face before. Sam didn't understand what was happening, why it was happening. He had been so sure after the face down at the convent, that Dean would never look at him with anything greater than disgust, anger or at the worst disinterest. It was too much.

Sam let his head hang, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander in fevered delirium. In the background were the careful, kind, hands of his brother.

Dean couldn't speak, his heart was being ripped in two. He was pretty sure that it was Sam, about ninety nine point nine percent sure, when he took the cuffs off all doubt was gone. He had done this, in a twisted round about way, pushing Sam, unable to help his brother as Sam walked down this path. His brother wanted to die, but worse, Sam was sure Dean would kill him. He'd tortured his little brother, had given up on him. And now they were sitting here, as far apart as they'd ever been.

How was he supposed to fix this?

He started with the things he could fix, he finished Sam's wrists, moved onto Sam's arms where the lacerations ran amok. They were horrible, a few red and weeping with infection. Dean took his time, trying to make it a procedure without pain. Sam didn't respond at all, his eyes were shut tight and he was going between tensed and relaxed. Dean could feel it, Sam would start to relax, as he always had when Dean was taking care of him, and then he would tense back up as if remembering.

When he was done with Sam's arms he moved onto his brother's torso. There were nasty cuts running from his collarbone to the bottom of his navel. Dean eased a breath out viewing the damage, brushed a hand against his mouth and set to work.

When he was done, that left the bullet wound. It smelled, obviously infected and the bullet still in there. Dean grit his teeth. He'd left Sam to this.

"Sammy," Dean said softly, wishing that Sam would look at him.

Sam didn't, eyes not even opening.

"Sammy," Dean tried again, "we're gonna have to get you somewhere else to take care of this leg."

Sam still didn't answer, but his eyes opened and the flicked over to Dean before moving back to the floor.

"Please, Sammy, for me," Dean asked.

Sam gave a tiny shake of his head.

"It's just to the front room, I swear, up the stairs and we'll get ya on the couch, fix you up," Dean wheedled.

Sam shook his head again, chapped, peeling lips parting and whispering something Dean couldn't quite catch.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, crouched there, looking imploringly at his brother.

"Hurt you," Sam repeated, weak voice barely audible.

"No you won't Sammy," Dean refuted, shaking his head as tears pricked at his eyes.

Shaky with emotion, he stood up, taking his brother's arm and pulling it around him, mindful of the injuries.

"C'mon Sasquatch, we're gonna get you fixed up," Dean said, trying to shove as much cheer into his voice.

Sam seemed reluctant, but he didn't fight, kept his head down and his eyes averted. The climb seemed disproportional, each step a thousand feet high and each movement heavy and difficult.


End file.
